


Better Call Thrall

by ageoftesla



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crimes & Criminals, Established Relationship, F/M, Financial Issues, Legal Drama, Minor Canonical Character(s), Multi, Old Friends, Organized Crime, Undergoing Revision, White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-15 18:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ageoftesla/pseuds/ageoftesla
Summary: In the fast paced world of law, public defender Thrall struggles to make ends meet. Katrana Prestor, a politician with a mysterious past, has a case that could shake the world to its core, and Thrall seizes the opportunity to make a name for himself. But as the case unfolds, he finds himself pulled deeper and deeper into the underbelly of justice, putting him at odds with fellow lawyers Grom and Jaina, and freeing him from the shadow of Menethil, Menethil, and Hellscream.





	1. Do Good Work

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes some cues from Better Call Saul, but will not be following the show beat for beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised

_I used to be like you._

A crowd of people dressed in tattered shirts and torn cloaks gathered along the night streets of Tarren Mill. They raised their fists with money, loose change and stray bills, yelling the names of the two women fighting in the center. “Riell!” “Deni!” “Riell!” “Deni!”

Bulky and green and standing out from the crowd was Thrall, an orc, with an older well-dressed human man standing behind him. The elder spoke into Thrall’s ear, barely audible under the chanting, “Who do you think is going to win?”

Thrall could hardly tell the two women apart. They both looked hard and wiry, faces rugged from living, well, like this. He stewed over the old man’s words for just a moment, and then he said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Very good, Thrall,” the man, Aedelas Blackmoore, told him. The crowd gasped as one of the women, Deni, it seemed, was knocked to the ground. When she got halfway up, she had a bad scrape on her leg and a heavy bruise on her cheek. He challenged Thrall again, “Do you know why?”

The crowd groaned as one of the women struck the other one. Riell was winning. The fight was almost over. Thrall couldn’t see any difference who won or lost, besides the money.

Blackmoore’s finger pointed to a portly man off to the side of the ring of onlookers. He was also dressed well, with a cheap waterproof jacket and a thick shirt with no holes or frays. He had a wad of money in his hands, and a thuggish looking orc handed him another. The man in the jacket, the Bookie, as he was called, counted the money. Blackmoore patted Thrall’s shoulder. “He keeps a cut. Whoever wins, the money goes to him.”

“What about that girl?” The one still standing up.

“She can bet on herself,” Blackmoore said. “She gets it back, if she wins, and more. The fat man only takes some. But he takes some from everyone.” Deni lay on the ground, her body limp and still and bleeding. Blackmoore handed Thrall a few bills and pushed him in.

Thrall made his way to the Bookie, who looked up at him without a care in his eyes. He handed the man the money. “On me.” Thrall stalked back into the center. A young human man walked in next, head held high, confident, but no self-bet. He raised his fists. Thrall raised his.

The crowd began cheering as they stepped toward each other. Punches flew, some straight, some wide, most of them connected. Neither Thrall nor his opponent really knew how to fight.

As they slugged at each other, the orc thug circled the crowd collecting cash for the Bookie. Roaring turned to chanting.

“Oakley!” “Thrall!” Someone, at least, knew their names. They caught on fast.

Oakley began stumbling back first. Thrall’s attacks slowed, and he locked his arms in front of him. He crashed into the man. Both of them collapsed.

Thrall struck with his elbows. His tough skin shrugged off Oakley’s punches. Soon those punches stopped. Thrall was the winner. He struggled to rise to his feet.

The mob erupted into cheering and angry shouting, half and half. The Bookie approached Thrall first, counting out his winnings. He looked the big orc up and down. “You really worked for it,” he said.

Thrall took the money without a word. At least it was more than he bet. Blackmoore found him, saw the cash in his hands, and smiled. Thrall held it up to him, but the old man turned it down. “Tonight, you keep it.”

* * *

“I used to be like you.”

In the small, concrete room they sat in, lit by a single bare lightbulb, Thrall didn’t look like other lawyers. Other lawyers were well dressed with straight pants and sharp suits. They were built like pencils, the kind of people that people like Uhgar would beat up.

“I know what you were thinking,” Thrall went on, “that you had to do it. I thought those things too.” Uhgar snorted. Thrall might not have belonged with the other lawyers, but he didn’t belong with the criminals either. He had things now, a watch, a badge, a fancy pen, and he knew too many words.

He was just like that human with the little notebook. “He stole it from me! The money was mine!”

“Okay, I get that,” Thrall held his hands forward, fingers spread out, stop. “But that doesn’t make what you did not a crime, so we can’t use that.” He thought about the fat man he used to know, how he used to give out winnings. “Your fight,” Thrall said, “who did they think was going to win?”

Uhgar scrunched his face, what difference did it make?

“You won, right? Who were you fighting?”

He scratched his head, clamped his eyes shut and strained his face. He was thinking hard about this. “Some tauren,” Uhgar said, and he added, “A woman.”

“Okay,” Thrall mumbled, shifting through pages of evidence to documentation of the money the crowd had bet on the fight, or at least some of it. “Okay, here’s what we’ll go with,” Thrall nodded, “He got mobbed. The fight didn’t go how everyone expected and the bookie got mobbed. You, you touched him, and maybe you shouldn’t have done that, but so did everyone, and that’s how he got beat up. Not assault.”

“But I did.”

“But maybe you didn’t,” Thrall said. “Maybe, it happened the way I said it. Maybe. And that’s what matters in the courtroom. So here’s how it’s going to go. The ADA is going to say some stuff. They’re going to say you did it. Just keep quiet. They’re going to bring witnesses up, professionals talking about stuff that doesn’t matter. I’ll see if I can poke some holes in it, you, just stay quiet. At the end, no one’s going to know anything anyway. I’ll tell the story, and then you’re free to go. Does that work for you?”

Uhgar’s eyes were spinning, that was a lot to process, and Thrall spoke very fast. But it sounded like he had a plan, and Uhgar was going to get off free, and that was all he needed to hear.

Someone came knocking on the door of the interrogation room. It was the prosecutor, the blue skinned ADA Edirah, looking in and waiting for Thrall to finish up with the defendant. He looked over his shoulder and saw her floating by the door, looked back at Uhgar and pointed. “Is it a plan?”

* * *

 

In the afternoon, Uhgar glared through the back window of the prison bus, burning with rage at Thrall and Edirah. He slammed his head against the emergency exit door, and the two lawyers paid him no mind as the bus drove away.

Edirah straightened her skirt and offered a hand to Thrall. “Good work in there. You did the best you could,” she said in a light accent from the archipelagos to the far south. “I didn’t think the cops would find the notebook, either.”

Thrall clasped her hand, staring forward blankly. “Yeah. No accounting for that.” His other hand gripped a slip of paper.

“Look at it this way,” she offered. “Win or lose, you’re paid the same.”

“Yeah,” Thrall said. “Win or lose. Doesn’t matter I guess.”

* * *

Heavy synthesized upbeats signaled the next o’clock. By now, nine. A song was playing over the tavern’s speakers, the manager’s choice for a Hero’s Welcome. “A real human being, and a real hero…” High elves had a sense of humor after all.

The manager, the high elf Isirami, stood out of sight of the front door as she tied her hair back. Her elastic hairband snapped down on her bun, and she peeked around the corner and saw Thrall sitting by the front door. A quick breath and she went up to him and set him up in a booth table. He waved to her as she left for the kitchen, and she waved back.

A young woman came inside, steely blue eyes looking around the speakers and flashing with disappointment. Maybe at herself, maybe at the music that had changed a minute ago. She walked along the left side aisle and sat down across from Thrall with a short and sweet, “Hey.”

Thrall didn’t move for a moment, then held the menu up straight. His mouth pulled into a grin, hidden behind the card stock, and he pretended not to notice her. Jaina slumped back in her chair, stared at him blankly with her eyes half shut. She could even see the lines of Thrall’s smile. Not impressed.

Isirami came back with a plate of scallops she set so deftly on the table. “Enjoy, Jaina. I’ll be right back with your Blackpine.” Off a nod and a smile, she looked to Thrall. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“The… venison steak,” Thrall decided. Isirami noted it down and took the menu away. Nothing left between him and Jaina now. He glanced down at her scallops, and raised an eyebrow. “They just had that ready for you?”

“What, that’s it?” Jaina pulled herself upright, sitting straight, posturing. She giggled, brushing it aside, “Hello to you too, Thrall.” She started picking at her food, tenderly bit a piece of scallop meat in half. “And yes,” she said once she finished chewing, “they did.”

“So is this where you’ve been all this time?”

Jaina nodded in the direction of the University of Dalaran. “Over there, but yeah. The research never ends.”

She did it to herself, Thrall thought, and a tight lipped look on Jaina’s face betrayed that she thought the same, bookworm that she was. “Speaking of things that never end,” Thrall said, “what’s up with Grom? Still out?”

“Still out,” Jaina said, and slowly it settled on her that he had been out for a while now. “He’s keeping busy, no word on when he gets back.”

“Never asked for help?” Thrall set down his knife and his fork, and up went his head, eye contact.

“When has Grom ever asked for help?” Jaina said. “Doesn’t stop anyone pressing, but it’s always,” Jaina shrugged. Thrall knew it even better than she did. “It’s the same.”

“Sounds like Grom.” Thrall looked away, at nothing in particular. “Has he said anything?”

Jaina laughed, strained, more wind than heart. So he hadn’t. Then, solemn, “How about you?”

Thrall sank back in his chair and drew a long breath as he thought about his work over the past few months. “PD work,” he said, throwing his hands up, “speaking of things that never end.” Isirami came back with a bottle of Blackpine and poured Jaina’s glass until the last drops trickled out. She left the bottle with them, told Thrall his meal would be ready soon, and left.

Jaina turned over the bottle in her hands. “It’s good work though, isn’t it?” she said. Jaina flourished her hands over the table, “And it pays well.”

“Well enough,” Thrall said, mumbling and unsure. “It’s just that sometimes it feels personal.”

“Sometimes it gets that way. Just try to take yourself out of it, see things clearly.” Jaina placed the bottle on the table and took another bite of the scallops. She looked at Thrall, noticed him slouching, lethargic, and she pushed her plate toward him. Jaina stuck the other fork into the seafood, “While you wait.”

A glance down, considering, but Thrall shook his head and slid the plate back. “I’m fine,” he said, “but thanks.” Grom would have said it the other way around.

* * *

A large pile of collapsed rubble sat in the hallway of the rundown Durnholde motel. At the foot of it, there was a hard leather briefcase with one of its latches unhooked. A business suit bunched up into a ball flew over the rubble and landed near the briefcase.

The debris at the top shook and dislodged and slid down, as Thrall climbed over. Steadying himself with a hand behind him, he walked down the slope and picked up his things. Just on his side was a sparsely furnished room, with a bed, a desk, and a suitcase. It was his room, number 136.

Thrall folded his suit on top of the luggage, and dropped his case of documents by the desk, and opened the drawer. He checked the safe box inside and counted the cash he kept there, one hundred and thirty dollars. This month’s payment, and due today. Thrall took out the check from his pocket and tucked it into the safe box, swapping it for the cash.

The drawers on the other side were full of papers, some of which he still needed, and most of which he didn’t. It was time to sort which was which, and he piled them up on his desk along with the documents from his briefcase. As he sifted through, his eye tended toward the left side of the desk, dark hardwood. His eyes bounced back there several times, until they noticed something was missing.

Simply probing, Thrall opened the drawers again, looking in and reaching his hand around the edges. He hunched over, checking under the desk to see if it had fallen off, but there was nothing there either. He searched his bed, patting it down, looking underneath, and he came up empty handed again. His gaze fell to his suit, and the suitcase it hung from. Thrall shook his head, that couldn’t be it.

But he searched anyway, and threw his clothes all over the floor, possessed, looking for something. He emptied it out and still didn’t find what he was looking for. Thrall scooped up all his clothes and jammed them back into his suitcase, pounding it shut before he stormed out of the room.

Some young men and women, teenagers, humans, orcs, were hanging out in the halls, breathing smoke and idly chatting and blankly staring. When they saw Thrall, some of them patted each other on the shoulders and scrammed. Some others kept doing what they were doing. They all knew where he was going. Best to stay out of his way.

The landlord, a lanky old troll named Zul’jin, called this room his office, just like he called himself the landlord. He had enough muscle to make it stick, and keep it under control. Thrall poked his head in the doorway, and the old man acknowledged him and beckoned him inside. “You have the money?” he said. Thrall took the wad of cash out of his pocket and placed it on Zul’jin’s desk. He counted it as it unfurled and swept it into a safe. When he looked up, Thrall was still there. “You want something.”

“I lost something,” Thrall said. “A necklace, small, silver,” he stopped himself before getting into what it meant to him, that it was a gift from a friend. “It was stolen, and I want it back.”

Zul’jin scratched his neck. His eyes shifted, and then narrowed in on Thrall. “So get it back,” he said.

Thrall stalked around to the front of the desk, “I don’t know who took it.”

“I don’t know either.” Zul’jin put the opening of an envelope onto a hooked blade. Before he pulled it open, he looked down at it, and back at Thrall. It was a monthly report from a local pawn shop, and as it started a train of thought, Zul’jin put the letter down, out of sight for now. “Tomorrow, I’ll check,” Zul’jin said. “If I see it, I’ll tell you.”

“Great,” Thrall said, but his face and his voice told a different story. “Thanks a ton.”

Zul’jin eyed him, glaring like an owl. As Thrall turned to leave, he said, “It’ll cost you.” His last words came as no surprise.

His walk back to his room lacked purpose, and the addicts in the halls didn’t flinch at him time. They leaned over one another, whispered into ears. Even now, Thrall picked up some of it. “Is that him?” “Is it true?” “Did he see the boss?” “What did he want?” If anything, he just wanted the day to be over.

When he got to his room again, Thrall found it just as he left it. A quick look in the drawers made sure, his paycheck from the court was still there. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulled off his shoes, and laid back, staring up at the clouds and the light of the town as he waited for sleep to find him.

* * *

On the back row benches of the Alterac courtroom, an intense faced human man wearing a tinged black suit watched the ADA and the defendant and the judge and the jury. The recess was over, and the defense attorney, Thrall, was still outside.

The judge on the bench, the honorable Mograine the Ashbringer, flipped the top on an off a steel cased lighter and sparked it close to his face. The prosecutor was getting antsy, and looked about to stand up and start pacing the floor, or go up to the judge to tell him how ridiculous this was. But it wasn’t ridiculous, and it wasn’t even that far out of the ordinary. It was just Thrall.

It was just the thing he always did, and it was just the kind of work he always took because nobody else wanted it. Yesterday, it was aggravated assault, today it was identity fraud, and all the hells only knew what it could be tomorrow. The ADA had laid out his statement and his case, and Thrall’s recess had ended… Mister Falconcrest checked his watch… eight minutes ago. And Thrall still wasn’t here.

Falconcrest lowered his arm back down beside his thigh, and he sat still, postured straight and facing forward, waiting for Thrall like everyone else. But he wasn’t irritated, and he didn’t show it on his blank, bored face, but he was modestly impressed. Modestly.

From behind him, Falconcrest could hear the door creaking open, before the jailer got up. The defendant, a goblin man caught with conflicting passports, looked around and rolled his eyes. “Finally!” he said, a word stretched out almost as long as Thrall’s break. “Gonna get me outta here now?”

The clerk’s typewriter keys began clacking, and Mograine snapped his lighter shut as Thrall sat down at his desk. “Counsellor,” he said, an ominous warning, “This court has graciously provided you the time you requested, and then some. You would do well to help in maintaining order and holding a brisk pace by keeping the defendant under control.”

Thrall tore his eyes away from the goblin to the judge. “I understand, Your Honor.”

Mograine struck his gavel. “Then our brief recess is over. Defense may proceed with its opening statement.”

Thrall stood up, at the center of the floor, facing the jury. He made one final look down before holding his head in confidence. “The prosecution has given its argument of zero tolerance. But that’s not justice, that’s punishment, and we should consider a different track. To be guilty of a crime requires two things. For wrongdoing to have happened, and for it to have happened with intent. We will find out that there was no predicating wrongdoing. On the charge of identity fraud, that means there was no fraud. The prosecution wants to show conflicting documents. They will prove which one is authentic and which one is forged. But what they won’t show us is a single notarized document bearing information from the forgery. They will not show us any material consequence of fraud, because no fraud happened.”

Thrall picked himself up as he spoke, made occasional, seemingly deliberate steps around the floor. “As for intent,” he flourished his hand toward the goblin, “they can’t prove that either. Sputtervalve doesn’t recall how the forgery came into his possession. He’s just as confused as we are, and it will stay that way, because the prosecution doesn’t know either. They’re simply grasping at straws.”

As the court clerk recorded Thrall’s final few words, he sat down by the defendant. The jury looked shaken, some of them grew unsure about the case. That was natural. Thrall did his job. And from what Falconcrest could see, he did it well.

But without a plan of his own, Thrall was just gambling.

After a round of witness questioning, court was adjourned, to be continued next week. Thrall moved through the hallways slowly, and the sharp dressed man caught up to him. “Thrall,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Mister Falconcrest. I was watching you in there, it looked like you did some good work.”

“Thank you,” Thrall said, more than a little wary of this complete stranger approaching him out of the blue. He gave him a look over. “Are you an attorney too?”

“I am,” Falconcrest said. “Just one client, but she’s looking for additional counsel, and she could use someone like you.”

Someone like him? Thrall would have thought a picky client would want someone better. Thrall pointed to the courtroom behind them. “You mean someone like me back there?”

“It’s fine if you can’t be that all the time. No one can.” Though there was one person, Thrall thought, one lawyer that could. And he had no doubt Mister Falconcrest knew it too. “But you have it in you, and it’s not going away.”

They crossed through the security checkpoint at the front, and into the parking lot. The fancy lawyer followed Thrall to his car, and there, he handed Thrall a card with his phone number on it. “As long as you’re interested.”

Thrall took the card and put it in his pocket without another word, and he drove away.

Falconcrest watched until Thrall’s beater of a Wolf disappeared before ducking into his own car to make a phone call. “I think I found just the kind of guy you’re looking for.”

* * *

The N and the DE at the end of DURNHOLDE still clung to the façade of the old motel. It was twilight and a big crowd was gathered in the front lobby, a final few minutes of the fight pit for the day. Thrall got out of his car, locked the doors and locked them again, and pushed into the crowd with his briefcase.

In the middle, on the edge of the pit, he saw Bookie Vardus, cheap jacket and all with a new, silly looking hat to cover his balding head, raking in the money. And Vardus saw him, too. “Thrall, my boy, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in years. You’re doing quite well!” His face was strained from smiling, and he quickly dropped it when he saw Zul’jin’s tall body weaving through the mass of spectators.

Thrall wasn’t going to say anything, but before he would have even had the chance, Vardus disengaged, said to him, “Really good to see you, but, I’m busy.”

Zul’jin pulled Thrall out of the crowd watching the fights. They spoke, underneath the flood of screaming wagers and cheers. “I found it,” Zul’jin said, “the necklace you were looking for.”

Thrall couldn’t believe his ears. “Really?” he said. “Are you sure it’s mine?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in a pawn shop in Southshore.” Zul’jin leaned in close and patted Thrall on the upper arm. “Like I told you, there’s a price.”

Thrall deflated when he heard it repeated. “How much?” He touched the wrist of his hand to his pocket.

“Three hundred and twenty dollars,” Zul’jin said. “Someone else has eyes on it. You should choose fast.” As Thrall was processing the old troll’s message, he vanished. Without his focus, Thrall turned his attention back to the yelling and shouting and punching. He thought about it. He could move the most money around. He could do it again, he could fight.

His face hardened and he shook his head, no. Never again. But then Vardus approached him, sensing a struggle, someone who had to do something. “Bit of a pickle?” he said, hunched over to get a good look at Thrall’s conundrum. Vardus held out his cupped hand and waved in. “I’m sure it’s nothing a little thrill can’t solve. Some good work goes a long way.”

Thrall brushed him aside. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said, stern.

Bookie Vardus chuckled. “For old times’ sake.” Thrall wasn’t responding, and Vardus’s eyes crawled up and around as he shook his head. As Thrall walked away, into the hallway to the pile of rubble, when he was ready to toss his briefcase, Vardus made one last offer, “Two to one.”

He stopped mid motion, his grip tightened on the leather corner pads. Thrall hurled it over the cave in. He stripped off his suit and threw it over as well. As he started to climb the rocks, he took one and threw it at Vardus, and it shattered in front of his feet.

On the other side, he snatched his suit and briefcase off the floor and fished the calling card out of his pocket. Sitting under the stars, phone in hand, Thrall pressed the number keys. The dial tone sounded once, twice, and then the man picked up.

“Falconcrest,” the phone said, “What can I do for you?”

“It’s Thrall,” Thrall said. “I’ve thought about your offer.”

“And?”

Thrall looked closely at the card, peering at the bottom line. “I’m in.”

* * *

An old Wolf that had seen better days pulled to a stop on the edge of a big water fountain. Nothing was flowing yet, but the car shook the ground and the ground shook the water. Thrall watched the ripples bounce off the stone and spread out over the surface. He turned around to see polished rock steps leading up to the door of the Prestor Estate in the Alterac Highlands.

Through the glass, as he pressed the door buzzer, he could see the fine wood floor, the bookcases and the spiral stairwell. A woman in a deep red dress opened the door to greet him, “You must be the attorney.” She extended her arm and led Thrall inside. “Katrana Prestor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

From inside, he could see taxidermies mounted on the walls, the long necks of a hydra that coiled all around the foyer. Thrall’s eyes wandered, drawn to family crests and writings. He followed behind Katrana slowly, leaving more distance between them on their way to her office. “Most of it is my father’s.” She caught him gawking, and waved for him to come inside.

The office was more modest, stuffed with file cabinets and a mess of documents and electoral paraphernalia on her desk that buried two telephones. On top of the stack was an envelope, unmistakably from Lower Blackrock Courthouse. Thrall sat across from Katrana as she took out the letter for him to see.

He read it, “To the honorable Katrana Prestor. Pursuant to information received on the 23rd of June and a subsequent preliminary report by the authorities submitted to the court on the 27th, yesterday on the 1st of July a Grand Jury moved to proceed against you on charges of identity fraud. Although the court understands that you are busy on the campaign trail, these circumstances do not excuse you from the judicial process. You are summoned to appear before Lower Blackrock Court on the 18th of July. Failure to attend may result with a warrant of arrest.” Thrall eyeballed the summons again. “Five days from now.”

“Right,” Katrana said, sitting unfazed. “Like it says, I’m busy, as is my team. That’s where you come in. Show up and listen, report back to me, we’ll talk strategy, make this go away.”

“Just make it go away, just like that?” Thrall said. “You don’t think there’s any merit to this?”

“None.” She slouched into her chair, hair falling over the side. Katrana gazed up at the ceiling, rolling her head around. “People can be made to believe anything. That’s the real trouble. If this gets out of hand, it hurts my campaign. But I can’t have them working on it because then it looks like there’s something there.” Her eyes landed on Thrall, and he could see they were different colors. “So yes,” Katrana said, “I need you to make it go away. Just like that.”

Thrall looked down and turned away, scratching his head. “Is there anything for me to do now?” And more importantly, any hours he could bill for.

“No,” Katrana said. “There’s nothing, well, no, actually don’t do that. Just do good work, and in five days, Blackrock. We’ll get started then.” Her eyes shifted back to her computer, and scrambling into action, she added, “Sign this.” She handed him a form authorizing direct money transfer.

Thrall scanned it, nothing amiss, and he signed his name to it, and she signed hers. He laid it on the desk and pointed to the name Varimathras. “Do I need to talk to him too?”

Her flickering eyes narrowed, something about Thrall’s tone reflected an aversion to the nathrezim, or maybe just to bankers. “You don’t have to,” Katrana said. “You signed the form, that’s enough, I can submit it myself.” She tugged on the signed form, ready to file it away. “Whenever I have time.”

“I’ll do it,” Thrall said as he snatched it back. A short smile flashed on Katrana’s face, and she let go without a fuss.

On the steps outside, Thrall looked down at his car. Next to the fountain, with the water now flowing, it seemed even smaller and crappier than it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters are still under revision


	2. Derelict

He turned off the engine, but didn’t want to open the door. Durnholde smelled horrible, with rot and infestation spreading all over the ruins of what used to be a motel. Nobody took care of the place anymore, but at least that meant nobody owned it either, and nobody was charging a nightly rate to live there. For all its faults, Thrall could appreciate it for what it had become, and whose hands it was wrested away from.

Not that it made the place smell any better.

Thrall breathed in, his last bit of fresh air for the day, and got out of the car, walking past chunks of concrete and exposed rebar, and the gang of troublemakers who all called this place home. The rooms weren’t numbered anymore, but for the most part, everyone knew who lived where. Thrall’s hallway had a cave in, and his room was just beyond it. Thrall took off his suit and climbed up the concrete slope.

His room was plain, just a chair, a desk, and a fold out bed, with some other additions over time as they became needed. He hung up his suit on the wall peg and sat down, rummaging around his things for a pen and paper, and started thinking.

The first few documents were obvious. Passports, driver’s license, birth certificate, taxpayer ID, banking records, hospital records, proof of insurance, the title deed to the Alterac estate, any other properties, any past business holdings, it was a start. The most important thing was continuity. If he and Jaina could establish that Katrana’s identity was either the same or at least known throughout her entire life, that should be enough to put this to rest.

Of course, ‘any other properties’ was vague, and it might not be good enough for the court, so it shouldn’t be good enough for Thrall either. He expanded his list of documents to include Katrana’s communications, be those emails or phone records. And from there a web emerged, where he was probing every address that showed up in those communications. Her life was going to be turned inside out by this trial.

As for the other things, everything he was forgetting, he could talk to Jaina about it tomorrow, or whenever they got a chance, or tomorrow. With the web of papers Thrall had drawn out sitting on his desk, four days was looking shorter and shorter by the second.

As he worked, he heard shouting from outside, all the way from the front of Durnholde. Reflexively, Thrall looked up and to the door of his room. It was probably nothing, just some punks arguing over some ridiculous bullshit, maybe even getting in a fight. It happened, it usually didn’t matter. He did his best to ignore it and focus on his expanding list of document requests for Katrana. But the shouting got louder, and a voice that did concern him joined the noise.

Thrall swept his things off his desk and into his briefcase and ran outside. There had been a fight, a bigger one than usual, and Zul’jin, the old troll who took the motel as his territory was here to put a stop to it, before it got even further out of hand.

“Break it up!” He grabbed one of the fighters by the straps of his tank top and threw his back, flat on his ass. This got the hooligans’ attention, and some of them broke off and ran immediately. One of them must have started it, because the rest ran after him. “Cut it out! Now!” But if the instigator wasn’t listening, the rest of them weren’t either. Zul’jin shook his head and bent down to pick up a rock.

Thrall approached him, staggered steps, and he held up his hands. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Zul’jin stalked towards the unruly youngsters and held the rock level at his shoulders.

“It looks like you’re about to put someone in the hospital, that’s what it looks like,” Thrall said. But in truth, he couldn’t quite follow what was going on. The kids fighting were just a singular mob of kids, and he couldn’t tell one from the other.

But Zul’jin could. “I deal with this, Thrall. You stay out of it.” He picked out one punk in particular, the one guy who ran away that all the others were chasing, and he drew back and threw the rock right at that guy’s head, knocking him down.

And then they saw the police car round the corner. And this time, the roughhousers scattered, leaving the one guy lying on the ground, bleeding slightly from his head. The officer got out of her car, looking around for a quick count of how many people were involved in whatever it was happened here. She saw Thrall and Zul’jin and waved them over.

“Witnesses,” Thrall said. “That’s all she thinks we are.”

Her badge said ‘Officer Darthalia.’ “You two want to shed some light what went down here?”

“Some punks got in a fight,” Zul’jin said.

“Over what?”

“Over what? Over nothing,” he shrugged. “They get in fights all the time.”

“Twenty kids get in a fight all at once, all the time?” Darthalia said. “Two or three, I get it. But twenty? Over nothing? I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“It’s what happened. They got in a fight, I stopped them.”

The officer looked puzzled, the way police officers do when their prosecutor brains switch on. “Stopped them how?” she asked.

“Tried,” Thrall said first, as Zul’jin’s mouth was just opening up. “He tried to stop them, but, clearly,” he looked towards the old troll, “it didn’t work a hundred percent.”

“Oh hell, a lawyer.” It was that obvious. Darthalia bit the end of her lower lip, mulling over options. She didn’t really want to get into it with a lawyer, that was just asking for paperwork. She couldn’t just let it go there, either though. Speaking to Zul’jin again, she asked, “Well, what did you do?”

“He restrained one of them,” Thrall pointed back to the one guy on the ground by the front door. “He was a little heavy handed, and he shouted at them, and they, trying to get away, took their grievances over here.”

Darthalia stared at Zul’jin. “Restrained. Grievances. Is that what we’re going with?”

He looked content with that explanation, and he nodded as much, “That’s what we go with.”

The prosecutor light flickered again, as she kneeled down beside the barely conscious kid and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic baggie of ground herbs. “So what’s this?”

Zul’jin was on his own for this one. “Beats me.”

“Maybe this is what they were fighting over.”

“Maybe,” Thrall said, “and maybe not.”

She wasn’t paying any attention to him, Darthalia was only talking to Zul’jin, “Were you present when the fight broke out?” He shook his head. There was another question on her mind. Thrall could read the conversation, and he could tell, broadly, what that question was. Neither of them could think of a reasonable justification to ask it. And Darthalia didn’t. “Do you mind if I keep this?” she said. “It might be a lead on something else.”

No one was going to say no to that, and the officer got in her cruiser and drove on. Thrall called for an ambulance, as Zul’jin walked back towards the troublemaker he threw to the ground. He reached into the young guy’s pocket and pulled out a slim roll of bills. He handed it to Thrall, all eighty dollars.

Thrall walked back down the hall to his room, stopping at the collapsed rubble. His stomach rumbled. He sucked in a breath and climbed the cave in to get to the keys in his briefcase.

* * *

Thrall unwrapped the other half of a mushroom and ham sandwich. His phone was vibrating on the floor at the foot of his desk, and he picked it up to dismiss the morning alarm.

‘Low power mode’

“Oh, shit,” he groaned. It was high time he got a car charger, Thrall thought as he finished his dinner from last night. He looked at his hands, too dirty to be touching important paperwork, or even his own notes. He trudged over to the ice chest and pressed the drain valve to fill a bucket with cold water, and he took it out back to wash his hands.

When he returned, his phone was ringing with a call from Lower Blackrock Courthouse. “Attorney at Thrall,” he answered.

“Hi, Thrall. Your name was pulled and we have a few assignments for you.” Thrall put his name on the list every day, mostly because he needed the work. He didn’t need it now, but if he turned it down, the court might never pick his name again.

“I’m on my way,” he said, picking up his briefcase, keys, and all his cards, and grabbed his suit off its peg. “What’s first on the list?”

“File says vandalism.” The clerk stopped to read the rest of the file for a short time, and Thrall could hear the rest of the office buzzing and ringing in the background. “It looks like graffiti, possibly drug related. The report is short. You can see for yourself when you get here.”

“Alright, I got it. There's one more thing,” Thrall said, but changed his mind, "I'll tell you when I get there." He hung up and drove, getting on the southbound freeway. Traffic was light today and he made good time to Exit 16, Blackrock Township. The area was under construction, a project to add another lane to the road, but there was special care not to block the exit.

A loud pop! Pop! Thrall’s car tilted on its side. He slammed the brakes. Steered to the side of the road. Pulled to a stop. Got out of the car.

Both of the right side tires were blown out. He looked back along the ramp and saw the pieces of debris at fault. He reached for his phone, looking at the critical battery warning, he muttered under his breath, “Not now.” Bracing himself, for nothing in particular, he called the operator to ask for auto service.

Soon, he was connected. “Yes, exit 16, southbound,” Thrall confirmed. “Two tires,” he said. “No, no insurance. Out of pocket, yes,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.” He hung up, and took his case out of the car. In his hand, it reminded him of the work inside, and he quickly dialed the last number he remembered for Jaina’s phone.

He got it right. “Hello, you’ve reached Jaina Proudmoore. Leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” The beep never came. Thrall pulled his phone in front of his face. Black screen.

In a few minutes, Grimly’s Auto Service arrived with a tow truck, and hitched the Wolf up onto the ramp. A dwarf got out, skin the color of dry silt, and walked up to Thrall to check the damage. “Yeah, it’s not that bad,” he said, rubbing his chin underneath this beard. “You sure the car’s worth it?”

“Cheaper than a new car,” Thrall said.

“Well, it’s seventy each for the tires, plus another seventy for me. Call it two hundred, even?”

Thrall reached in his pocket, counted sixty-five and change, and looked at his cards. “Do you take credit?” he said, nearly resigned to hear no.

“Sure. Back at the shop.” Grimly opened the passenger door, and then walked back around the tow truck. “Get in.”

‘For the tank, there’s gas. For the rest, there’s GAS.’

‘Grimly’s Auto Service.’

* * *

 

Two fresh, new tires rolled to a stop by the curb. Water drops fell off the frame of the beat down Wolf as the engine quieted down. Even at night, the grass and street shined slick with recent rainfall.

The door opened across a briefcase on the passenger seat. Thrall grabbed the case and got out of the car, leaving his phone inside, connected to an AC adapter in the charging port. The locks clicked shut, and he walked up the cobblestone path to the back door of Grom Hellscream’s house. He pressed the buzzer and knocked on the door. “Grom! It’s Thrall.”

A sinewy orc pulled back the curtain from the back door windows, Grom. He twisted a knob and opened the door open for Thrall the get inside, then pushed it shut again. The utility room was almost the size of Thrall’s Durnholde suite. Before they got off the length of the rug, Grom pointed down, “Your shoes.”

Thrall took his shoes off, “Thanks.” They walked past the kitchen, past a rack of finely aged red wine labeled ‘MANNOROTH,’ to Grom’s study.

Rows and stacks of filing cabinets covered the walls, some of them open with folders taken out and sitting on the desk, over the two keyboards. Grom moved ahead of Thrall and closed the work he had open, accounting sheets from a client he’d been working on alone, without MMH, for a while now. There were more spreadsheets on paper across the folders, and Grom closed those, too. Satisfied that he could spare Thrall his full attention, Grom said, “What brings you here?”

Thrall took a moment, considered how he wanted to begin this. Grom could be a stickler for the rules sometimes. “I got a client yesterday,” Thrall started, and reading Grom’s response, he went on, “Do you know Katrana Prestor?”

“I’ve heard about her,” Grom said, “I don’t remember ever meeting her in person.” He typed her name into the search bar, and a portrait came up of a human woman wearing a blazer of very faintly tinged off-black. It was a political portrait, “The councilor representing Alterac, right?” Grom took his eyes away from the monitor. “Your new client.”

“Yeah. Actually, I’m not the only one.”

“Who’s with you?” Grom asked.

Thrall was taken aback. “Jaina didn’t tell you?” Grom shook his head. “What about the Lich King, he didn’t say anything either?”

Grom rolled his eyes. The highlight of Arthas’s early career was absolving a murder suspect by tracking down the victim alive and well, and presenting him to the court like a necromancer bringing back the dead. “No, Thrall,” Grom said, “I haven’t been in touch with the firm lately.”

“Right, that’s right,” Thrall backed up. “Have you talked to anyone lately? Have you at least been to court?”

“Yes, I have. Thrall, you don’t have to worry about me and person to person contact.” Grom waved his hand around at all the filing cabinets, all the folders and binders and all the documents surrounding them. “I know it looks like this is my whole life, but I’m not trapped here all day.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Thrall said. “And I’m sorry I pushed, I just wanted to know if you’ve heard anything or overheard anything about Prestor.”

Oh. That’s what this was about. “I don’t know who’s working that case.”

“I figured as much, just thought I’d try. It was worth a shot.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Grom said.

“Yes, I do!”

“I meant the scouting.”

“So did I,” Thrall said. “I’m not the lawyer you are, Grom, I’m not even half, but this is what I know. I can’t afford to blow this Prestor case, and since Jaina’s working on it with me, I have to have something, there has to be something I’m doing that she can’t. Otherwise, why keep me hired?”

“What about just your half? It sounds like a big case, there should be plenty of work to go around,” Grom said. He’d never actually seen Thrall get this stressed over his work before, and guessed there might have been something else on his mind. “Do you want something to drink? I can start some tea, coffee if you want.”

“Tea sounds good,” Thrall said, breath still short. Grom left to the kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove with a bag of cloud drake leaves. He didn’t come back right away, and Thrall heard the sound of the back door opening. He tried to calm down as he waited, and he took his mind off the Katrana case, but there was something else that was waiting to take its place.

Grom held out his hand, catching some light drops of rain that was picking up from earlier in the day, and he walked down the cobblestones to the back of Thrall’s car. He kneeled down halfway, to get a closer look at the tires, and saw that they didn’t match. He turned back to his house.

Inside, the kettle started whistling, and Thrall got up to take it off before it spilled out. He saw the back door open, and followed Grom outside, to see him checking out the wheels of his car. “Hey, Grom!” he said. “You wanna come back in?”

“I’ll be right there!” And sure enough, he was, back under the roof and out of the rain. “New tires?” Grom asked.

“I drove over a rock this morning, popped two tires,” Thrall said. “The repair guy, Grimly, he tells me seventy each, plus another seventy for him, and then you know what he says?” He held up two fingers, “Two hundred even. It’s like he could tell!”

Grom squinted and shook his head, not exactly following Thrall’s train of thought. “Tell what?” Not following, but perhaps waiting at its destination just the same.

“Grom, I’m broke.”

An exaggeration. But not a big one. “I’m falling behind on my bills,” Thrall said. “If I can’t catch up, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” That wasn’t exactly true either, Thrall did have something to fall back on, and both he and Grom knew what it was. They also both knew neither of them wanted things to go back that way again. “Please, help me out here.”

“I’m not spying for you,” Grom said. “Besides, you’re perfectly capable of asking around yourself.”

“Could you talk to Katrana?”

Grom paused, thinking through that line of action. He placed a hand on Thrall’s shoulder, “I don’t that’s going to accomplish what you want.”

Okay, here it comes. “What about Mannoroth?”

Grom drew his hand back. “No.”

“Come on, Grom, we’re family! We’re practically family, he’ll understand!”

“No,” on this, he was adamant. “Mannoroth is my problem, my business…” Grom trailed off before a third thing.

“Just his money then.” This one had to work, Thrall thought.

“Just because I don’t like holding that money here, doesn’t mean I can give it you. I’m sorry, Thrall. I really am, and,” Grom came up with something, “I’ll go in and talk to Arthas tomorrow, see if I can arrange something.” Thrall didn’t respond, mulling over the thought of working for the golden boy. “I need to get back to work. You can pour yourself some tea before you leave.”

Grom left Thrall’s briefcase against the molding and closed to door to his study. Thrall took his case and turned to head out, but stopped at the door to the basement. He eased the door open, careful not to make a sound, and went downstairs.

Flicking on the light, he saw a massive vault, for the Mannoroth money that ate at Grom’s mind. A thought played on Thrall’s head, but he shook it off. He’d have to save it for later.

* * *

_To: Jaina_

‘Grom is going to talk to Arthas tomorrow. Our case might come up. I think he should hear it from you first.’

‘Oh yeah sorry about missing your calls. Phone died.’

 


	3. Menethil, Menethil, and Hellscream

Thrall was looking at his phone, rereading the text he got from Grom that invited him to join this meeting. His eyes moved to the corner for the phone’s power status, currently fully charged. He unplugged it and dropped it into his suit pocket, and got out of his car and walked across the parking lot to the front door. On his way, he passed Katrana’s car, the purple highlights he remembered from her estate, and he wondered what she was doing here.

A bell rang, and the glass front door of the Menethil, Menethil, and Hellscream law office opened for him. People in suits and sharp cut dresses were walking about the lobby to one suite or other in the office.  Thrall went upstairs to one of the corner offices, Arthas’s office, and he found Grom, Jaina, Katrana, and the silver-suited boss himself inside, in the middle of something. The conversation stopped, and Arthas looked over to the door. “Thrall,” he said, “you’re here.” He pointed to an empty chair. “Join us.” Thrall moved to it. “So you and Jaina have been busy these past few days?”

“So you’ve heard of that?” Thrall said.

“I have.” Arthas pointed to Katrana with his thumb. He reached out to shake hands with Jaina, “And congratulations,” he stretched his hand towards Thrall, but couldn’t reach. “A case like this doesn’t pop up every day. I’m sure it’ll keep you busy.”

“But not you,” Thrall said, cutting, but hopefully not too deep.

“My call,” Katrana said. “When I reached out to the two of you, I was hoping to keep this small scale. For me, this is about image as much as it is about, whatever it’s all about. Picking up a big law firm makes waves. That’s not what I wanted.”

“Well, I have to try,” Arthas said with a faint chuckle. He began his pitch, “If this identity fraud charge is as serious as you were saying earlier, the DA’s investigation is likely to probe everything you’ve got. Some of it you can block, but everything is paperwork, and missing a deadline can be treated the same as defying a subpoena, which, to get back to image, that looks like you have something to hide.”

“But that doesn’t change whether I have the whole office or just them?” Katrana said. “If I’m hearing this right, the only difference is speed.”

“And money,” Thrall said, and Katrana nodded her head toward him.

Arthas held his hands up, conceding the point, but just that one. “It will be more hours, yes. Time is money, but it’s also work done. It’s also more flexibility, since we can move people on and off the team as needed. Higher price, to be sure, but it’s higher value.”

Katrana shook her head. “Thrall and Miss Proudmoore are competent attorneys,” she said. “I’m confident they can pull this off.”

“I had to try.” He sucked in a breath and went on, “Then there’s the matter of Jaina’s contract with us.” He looked at her like he was in a bind, exculpatory as could be. “I don’t want this to come off as still trying to change your mind, but Jaina is limited in the hours she can work for a client that isn’t ours.”

“So it would just be Thrall?” Katrana leaned back and laid her arm on the table, dropped her head down in thought.

Arthas nodded, “Depending how much there is to do. And whether the DA realizes this,” he tapped on the table, “and exploits it.”

“Or how long it takes,” Jaina said. “If this wraps up soon, we don’t have to worry about the time limits.”

“Really? You told me it’d take a while,” Katrana said.

“Thrall said it could take a while. And that was delaying everything. Maybe, instead, we press the issue,” Jaina said. “Get it over with.”

“No. Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s an option.”

Jaina turned from Katrana to Arthas. “So how much do you want this?” he asked her. Jaina shrugged, it didn’t really matter to her whether she kept working this one or not, just a sense of time wasted.

“What if I want her?” Katrana said. “What’s that going to take?”

“A buyout,” they said at the same time, Jaina’s voice more apprehensive, Arthas’s more matter of fact. Jaina went on, “I think it’s for five years? That’s about six hundred thousand dollars. On top of what you’d be paying me for counsel.”

Thrall glanced at Grom, what was he even doing here? Grom met his look and raised his hand up off the table, just wait, they’d get to it.

Katrana tapped the side of her head, just behind the ear, and pressed her top lip against the bottom. “I don’t have the cash on hand for that,” she was thinking about her campaign fund, and holding this as a campaign issue.

“I’m allowed to share the notes I’ve made so far, right?” Jaina said, to Katrana and Arthas both. “As much of it as there is, anyway. Is there anything in my contract against that?”

“I don’t think so,” Arthas said. “And even if there is, as long as all of us are okay with it,” he looked around the room, saw that they were, or didn’t so much care, “then we can let it slide.”

“I have another idea,” Grom spoke up at last, and everyone’s eyes fell to him. Grom gathered himself, gathered his thoughts, and addressed Jaina first of all, “We could make you and Thrall your own office. Affiliated with us, but otherwise independent, and after a year, you could come back.”

If that was what she wanted. A chance to build her own practice, her own firm, with a safety net just in case. It was a lot for her to think about, put on the spot like this. A chance to work with Thrall again, as something more than they were last time. Jaina looked at Arthas for his approval of the plan, and she got it.

All that was left was Thrall, who slid his hand over to hers. “Together,” he said.

Katrana watched their silent exchange, relieved that she wouldn’t have to go back looking for lawyers again on even shorter notice, and satisfied that Jaina and the rest of her firm could work this out, without anyone having to throw around over half a million dollars. She watched as Jaina laid her hand over Thrall’s.

“Okay.”

* * *

Three cars were parked in a row by an anonymous office building, and all their trunks were open. Thrall and Jaina heaved a fold up table out of one of the cars, and they nodded as Thrall dragged it into the office to set up. He passed by the real estate agent pulling up the ‘FOR LEASE’ sign and Arthas and the landlord ironing out a few final notary matters. Jaina passed by just afterward, gripping a box of supplies labeled MMH on the sides.

“Thanks again,” Arthas was saying to the landlord, a sullen faced man named Rivendare, “for being able to move on this on such short notice.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to close to book on this, for now at least.” It was hard to anticipate ever selling or leasing a property immediately, and Rivendare’s high collar muted coat gave away that he was interrupted in the middle of something. He eyed Jaina as she walked by, narrowing in on the letters on the boxes. “You guys are lawyers,” he said. “That makes this easier.”

“I can get most of the forms out of the way,” Arthas said, “but the lease will be in their names.”

Thrall picked up the two folding chairs from the trunk of his car, and slammed it shut. He dragged them, their feet scraping on the asphalt and concrete behind him.

“Fine by me,” Rivendare stuffed his hands in his pockets. He saw Katrana standing by the open trunk of her car, and noticed that she hadn’t been moving anything yet. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

“Their eyes only,” Katrana told him, “you understand how it is.” Rivendare knew who she was, and she had an inkling about him, and knew at least that their politics didn’t line up. And he was professional about it, of course, and he didn’t press the matter. Rivendare left with Arthas to handle what was his business, the property, and Katrana waited for her newly retained lawyers to get back.

Three boxes, one for each of them. They helped Jaina get her grip good and steady, then Katrana and Thrall picked up the others, and he pushed the trunk door closed.

There was a single counter built into the suite, and they left the cases on top of it. Thrall looked around at the chairs and tables flat packed and leaned against the walls. “Clean as it’s going to be,” he held up his hand like the bottom corner of a picture frame. He felt Jaina’s hand fall softly on his shoulder as she came up beside him without a word. “Guess we better get started.”

“One more thing first,” Katrana said, halfway to the door, “then I’ll leave you to it.”

Thrall’s eyes followed the hem of Katrana’s skirt to the door, and from there they zeroed in on the corner of the frame just above the hinges. The cold winter air was still pouring in. “It needs a closer,” Thrall said.

Jaina stopped what she was doing, put down the pack of paperclips in her hands back into the storage box, and stepped in front of Thrall and followed his gaze to the door frame corner. She noticed something missing. “Is that what they’re called?” The door closer, according to Thrall.

He shrugged, “What else would it be called?” Jaina scoffed and walked off to get one of the tables set up. Thrall followed her, and when its four feet were planted firm on the carpet, they grabbed a box of papers and started laying things out.

Their workflow broke early as they heard Katrana’s knuckles rapping on the open door. She placed a hand on a corner of the table and tested its stability before sitting down, and took out her checkbook. Then she was searching her purse for something, “Okay, I hope one of you has a pen.”

“I’ll get it,” Jaina walked across the room to the MMH box and rummaged inside for a pen, cracked open a half empty pack and took one out.

Katrana wrote their payment, “Fifty thousand for retainer, plus fifteen for work already done. Total of sixty-five.” She slid the check across the table, and Thrall took it, perhaps a little too eager. The name on it was for Katrana’s campaign, and the ‘payable to’ line was blank. “I’ll let you work that out,” she got up to leave, “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know,” and closed the door behind her.

Jaina looked from the check in Thrall’s hands up to his face as he swallowed and opened his mouth to explain, and she cut him off, “It’s fine. We’ll split it later.”

Thrall nodded, water gathered in his eyes, and put down the slip of paper and took Jaina between his arms.

* * *

They started with anything publically accessible, copies of Katrana’s social media and campaign pages, and all the interview transcripts that her staff could find floating around, and for these documents, Thrall and Jaina agreed on the color blue, and for names they used whatever color highlighter they picked up out of the box.

After lunch, they agreed that they would only use highlighter pens for names and that they’d figure out something else later for other points of interest, like businesses, things, and places. But names were the top priority.

Before long, bit by bit, they had the entire table covered from corner to corner in marked up documents, and Thrall went to set up the other table they had. The legs snapped into place. He crept up behind Jaina’s shoulder, looking over at the form she was trying to fit onto the table like a puzzle piece, and he took it out of her hand. “Hey,” she whined after it, twisting her neck to follow.

She met his smirk and smiled at him. “Other table’s up,” Thrall said, pointing the corner of the page to it.

Jaina looked where he was pointing. “Oh. Thanks.” Making one more sweep over their progress so far, she backed up and pulled her chair across the room, positioning it just so, and went back to get the near empty second box. The remaining papers inside fell over, and as they took turns pulling from the rest of the stack, Thrall found something of note and showed it to her.

The word ‘Onyxia’ they hadn’t seen before. “What do you figure that is?” Thrall said.

Jaina squinted, focused in until it was the only thing she could see. “No idea,” she said, “and I’ll bet the prosecutors don’t know either.” But they’d want to. Highlighting was for names, they’d agreed, but this warranted the same scrutiny. Maybe more. Jaina took the file out of Thrall’s hand, picked up a marker, and singled it out.

They kept going, with ‘Onyxia’ floating at the top of their minds, until near sunset they had finished going through the last box and never saw it again. It was time to call it a day. And there was something Thrall had to do, he was reminded as he felt Katrana’s check in his pocket. He pulled it out, showed Jaina. “Do you want to do this together?” he said.

She scanned the table, yellow and pink and different colored sticky notes dotted the surface and flooded her eyes. The evening light came in through the window, catching in her hair in front of her face. “Sure,” Jaina said, standing up, “let’s go.”

Thrall locked the door, and they stood outside for a moment, looking at the blank face of the office, and thinking of the still blank payable line. “Do you have a name for the place?”

“What do you mean me?” she said, nudging Thrall in the forearm. “I’m working on it.” Her phone started buzzing, caller ID from her brother, Derek, and she answered, mostly listening. “Kinda. Why?” She pulled her head down at something. “Seriously? Yeah, I’ll be there. Absolutely.” Jaina hung up, “Sorry, something came up.”

Thrall followed her to her car, “What about this?”

“Do it yourself,” Jaina said.

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

* * *

Postmaster was a legacy name, from a time before telecommunications when people still corresponded by letter on a regular basis. But times changed, and the Postmaster changed with them, and now this was the place to find a phonebook.

Thrall sat in a soft, cushioned chair with a yellow page book, leafing through it looking for private detectives, and when he found them, there weren’t many. He had his pack with him, and he took out a pen and paper and wrote down all the numbers in the list and stepped outside.

He looked for a street lamp and stood under it, notepad in one hand and cell phone in the other, took a breath and started the cold calls.

_You’ve reached The Huntsman, Private Investigator. For ongoing matters, use the alternative number I’ve provided you. For all other inquiries, leave your name and matter, and I’ll respond as soon as I can._

Maybe he closed early, Thrall thought, though his raspy voice suggested Xavier would be more of a night owl. Perhaps he was busy, that seemed more likely, but whatever the case was, Thrall crossed off his name from his notepad and tried the next one.

_You’ve reached Huntsman Blake, Private Investigator. For ongoing matters, use the alternative number I gave you. For all other inquiries, leave your name and a description of the target, and I’ll respond as soon as I can._

“Huh, weird,” Thrall said. Did all private investigators set the same voicemail message? No, that had to be a coincidence.

_You’ve reached Huntress Kuzari—_

_You’ve reached Don Omar—_

_You’ve reached Thunderhorn Associated—_

_… Private investigator. For ongoing matters, use the alternative number provided to you. For all other inquiries, leave your name and a short description of the subject you want investigated, and I’ll respond as soon as I can._

“Wow,” Thrall said, scratching off the phone numbers one after another. “This is unbelievable. They’re actually all the same.” He pinched his pen between his thumb and index finger, slipped his phone into his pocket and hung his head down in disbelief.

There was one number left, he noticed. Thrall took out his phone again, and tried the last call of the night. It rang once, twice, three times, a fourth, and the other end picked up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Sylvanas Windrunner, Private Investigator. For ongoing matters, tell me your case number. For all other inquiries, what can I do for you?”

He supposed the phrasing had to be changed for when they said it in real time, if only barely. Thrall stayed quiet, still trying to process why it seemed every private investigator in Azeroth answered the phone the exact same way.

“Hello?” Sylvanas said.

“Uh, yeah,” Thrall snapped out of it, “there’s a word I was looking for someone to dig into.” That was possibly the vaguest lead ever, a nondescript word.

“A word.” Even the detective sounded like she didn’t know what to do with that. “What kind of word?”

“It could be a name,” Thrall said. “It could be something else. Could be nothing at all. One word, and a name that might be related. That’s all I got.”

“And you want to know if they are? That’s a lot better than just the word with no context.” The conversation paused again as Sylvanas came up with the obvious next question. “What word?”

“Does this mean you’ll it?” Thrall said. Lawyers. Always had to be technical all the time, I’s dotted and T’s crossed.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Sylvanas said. “Is this a not on the phone kind of thing?”

“Kind of,” Thrall said.

“That’s fine. We can work around that. Let’s meet for coffee. You know where Tranquillien is? There’s a place there. Terellia’s. It’s actually pretty good. We’ll talk there.”

“I can find it,” Thrall said. “When I’m there, what should I be looking for?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll find you.” It was what she did, after all.


End file.
